


rotten luck

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Illustrations, M/M, i thirst for it, if anyone wants to play with the identity thing i did in this fic, just getting some feels out, post ep 160, then PLEASE do so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 15:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21283694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: When the Archive opens its eyes again, it has accepted what it is.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 100
Kudos: 789





	rotten luck

**Author's Note:**

> The illustration was done by the incredible [sadfishkid!](https://sadfishkid.tumblr.com/) Check their stuff out!

It is impossible to stop the hysterical, broken laughter spilling out of his mouth. He laughs until he starts to go lightheaded, and then keeps going until his knees buckle, his chest burning. Martin makes a soft, upset sound and catches him, eases him into sitting down on the floor. It makes the sky disappear from his field of view, which helps him feel less like his head has been cracked open and his brains spread out in a thin layer to be inspected, even if he can still feel its burning gaze even through the wood of the cottage. He wheezes breathless laughter as tears slide down his face and Martin pulls him into his chest, makes soothing, fretful noises. 

He closes his eyes and breathes Martin in. Goes limp like a puppet with its strings cut, and sags into him. Martin runs his fingers through his hair. 

“It’s okay, Jon,” he says, as the world ends. He can hear the terror lying close underneath his words. “It’s alright.” 

He keeps his eyes closed, and… stops thinking. Disconnects from reality, for a moment. He doesn’t know how long. Doesn’t know if it’s for an hour or a second. He just breathes and listens to Martin’s heartbeat. 

When the Archive opens its eyes again, it has accepted what it is. 

It’s sitting on the couch now, but still held close by Martin. Martin hasn’t seemed to notice it coming back to its senses, because he’s reading through a sheaf of papers with an intent look on his face, one arm tucked around the Archive as if it is precious. 

It looks to see what he is reading. 

_ It’s not in your blood, or your soul, or your destiny. It’s just in your own rotten luck.  _

Oh. That Statement. So he already knows what the Archive has done, then, what it is. A tool to end the world. A tool that worked. It ended the world. 

It had Martin Blackwood close and fond and loving for twenty two days. Such a short time to be happy. Just long enough for it to drop its guard, it supposes. Not long at all. 

“Jon,” Martin says. He has noticed that the Archive has gone rigid in his arms. He will move away from it now, he will not touch it again, never ever again. It wants to lean into him and hold on so that he won’t leave, but it doesn’t deserve that. 

“Martin,” it says softly, voice rough with the hardest, most insane fit of laughter it has ever suffered. From twenty minutes of soft, purring, smug words pouring out of its mouth that it couldn’t swallow. 

Martin kisses the Archive, the way he has kissed Jonathan Sims for twenty two days. It sits there, frozen and terrified and exhausted. Martin retreats before the Archive can think of what to do, how to react, and sets a hand on its face. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, eyes bright and shining and intense. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.” 

“No,” the Archive disagrees. “It’s not your fault.” 

Martin takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Right. Right. It’s Eli-- Jonah Magnus’ fault.” 

The Archive feels too hollow to feel even angry at Jonah, and it can’t bring itself to correct him either. 

All it had to do was put the pages down. Stop reading. Not read them _ out loud, _ at the very least. 

It can hear screaming, off in the distance, in the direction of the village. Constant, horrified screaming. It made that happen. It did that. 

Martin looks at him, scared and brave and caring. “We’ll… we’ll do something. Fix this, I guess. Somehow.” He can’t even make himself sound certain that this situation is fixable, even as he does sound determined to do _ something.  _

Some broken things can’t ever be fixed. Some mistakes are just too…  _ monumentally  _ large. How many people has the Archive already killed? Five seconds from now, how many more? 

It doesn’t say anything, and Martin kisses it like it’s a person again. The Archive can’t bring itself to reveal the awful truth to him. It’ll just do what it’s for and… contain it. Keep the truth inside of itself, know it on its own because something has to, so it might as well be it. After everything that he has suffered and it has done, Martin deserves to think that he is holding the hand of a person, of Jon. 

Jonathan Sims was scraped out of him years ago and replaced with nothing but fear and pain and awful knowledge, and it didn’t even notice as it was happening. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [broken doll](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21298511) by [screechfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/screechfox/pseuds/screechfox)
  * [Camera Lens Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21306941) by [grossferatu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grossferatu/pseuds/grossferatu)


End file.
